


Lay Down Your Burdens

by withpractice_ff



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Gen, M/M, PWKM, Phoenix Wright Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-30
Updated: 2010-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-17 05:49:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/173579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withpractice_ff/pseuds/withpractice_ff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phoenix and his family cope with his terminal illness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lay Down Your Burdens

**Author's Note:**

> For the kink meme prompt:
> 
> _Misread two parts of separate prompts and saw it as..._
> 
> _Edgeworth loves Phoenix because he's dying._

He doesn't tell anyone, not at first.

It's strange, walking out of the doctor's office and into the afternoon sun. He listens to the sound of the birds chirping in the trees, the cars traveling the highway beyond the parking lot, and everything is so normal, so familiar. Everything feels the same, _he_ feels the same, and it's almost as if nothing has changed.

It's almost as if he isn't dying.

  


* * *

  


The apartment is empty when he gets home. He sets the mail on the kitchen table, and that's normal, too. He opens the refrigerator, more out of habit than desire, and his eyes travel over the half empty carton of milk, the leftover Chinese food.

With a sigh, he closes the door. He closes his eyes, and he doesn't feel anything. He should feel _something_ , he thinks, but instead he just feels hollow, outside of his skin.

He moves into the living room, standing in the center of the room, unsure of what to do. What _does_ one do when they're dying? He laughs, a brittle, hard sound against the silence of the apartment, and shakes his head. _Everybody's dying_ , he thinks, fleetingly, something cold settling in the pit of his stomach.

He frowns, seeing Trucy's socks sticking out from under the couch.

Trucy.

Trucy is out with Apollo, helping to work the young attorney's latest case.

 _She has Apollo,_ Phoenix thinks. _And Thalassa. She won't be alone._

And it's then, clutching Trucy's socks, that it hits him.

  


* * *

  


His doctors tell him that chemo is a viable option. He could get another couple of months, maybe a year even. He listens to them with his hands pressed between his thighs, and their words turn into a dull hum.

  


* * *

  


He needs to tell Trucy. If he tells anyone--and he should, he _has_ to, there will be no hiding it soon enough--it should be Trucy first.

And he tries. He plans dinners, plots his strategy, scripts his words. But she looks at him with those wide, blue eyes, that goofy smile shaping her lips, and he can't, he can't.

He can't.

  


* * *

  


He knows he's going to make the call before it actually happens.

His mind keeps coming back to the same place, and though he tries to deny it--reject it--it's true.

He keeps thinking of waking up in a hospital bed, pain tracing every inch of his body, and how it didn't matter once he saw Miles Edgeworth sitting at the end of his bed.

  


* * *

  


They've kept in touch sporadically, never quite friends but somehow bound together, a strange closeness that neither has ever been able to identify, but neither do they question it.

He waits until Trucy is in bed, until it's morning across the globe. Miles picks up on the third ring, and hearing his voice, it's almost as though no time has passed, as though they are spending late nights and early mornings scouring years old case files, analyzing bits of discarded evidence, searching for a way to root out the truth.

He closes his eyes and imagines Miles Edgeworth standing outside of the courthouse, waiting. He remembers the sadness in the man's eyes, the knowing, and how his arms had wrapped around Phoenix, how he'd pulled the fallen attorney into his warmth.

They haven't seen each other since.

He doesn't make idle chit-chat, he just gets straight to the point. There is silence through the receiver, across the ocean, and for a moment he worries that he'd been wrong, that they are no longer so close, that chapter of their lives closed.

"How long?" Miles asks, his voice quiet.

"Three months," Phoenix says, amazed by how easily the words pass his lips. "A few months longer, if I do the chemo. I'm not going to."

He expects Miles to protest, to question. His doctors have been disbelieving, telling him the longer he waits, the less effective the treatment will be, and how he doesn't want to be in a position to regret. He thinks about his mother, how brittle her bones had seemed, her eyes dull and her skin like tissue paper, and he knows he won't regret.

"I can be there by Monday," Miles says.

Phoenix blinks, dry-eyed, and doesn't feel anything.

  


* * *

  


Trucy does not take the news as well as Edgeworth.

He can't look at her when he tells them, instead watching Apollo, the way the young man's hand fidgets with the bracelet at his wrist. Trucy's voice is raising--he so rarely hears her yell, it's a foreign sound, one his brain doesn't quite accept--asking him what does he mean, he's not going to do the chemo, and Apollo watches her, wide-eyed, and Phoenix watches the bracelet turn and turn around his wrist.

  


* * *

  


In the airport, waiting, he feels guilty.

This is no problem of Miles Edgeworth's. He stares blankly into the crowd, folding his hands in his lap to keep them from shaking. This is selfish, and it's not a good idea.

Usually it's Trucy he turns to when he's sad, scared. But this time is different. This time he has to be strong enough for the both of them, this time there is no room to let her see him doubt, falter.

This is the last chance he'll get to be there for her.

He startles at Edgeworth's hand on his shoulder.

They don't say anything for a moment, and Edgeworth's touch lingers, both of them awkward. He remembers Edgeworth in the hospital room, outside of the courthouse, and the feeling of being unburdened, however fleeting. He remembers expectations and responsibilities, and the relief of being excused.

He smiles, and Edgeworth pulls away.

  


* * *

  


No one questions Edgeworth's presence; they've all heard his name, understand that he is in some way important to Phoenix.

Trucy shines to him immediately. She recruits him to help her cook dinner, and as they're chopping onions, she presses him for embarrassing stories of Phoenix's youth, which he is only too happy to share.

Maya, so proud of herself for staying strong, breaks when she sees him, throwing her arms around him and burying her face into his chest, worried Phoenix will see her tears.

"Ms. Fey..." he says awkwardly, even as his arms tighten around her waist, seeing the grief he has not yet acknowledged reflected in her sorrow.

  


* * *

  


In his suite at the Gatewater, staring up at the stark white ceiling, he wonders what he's doing here, why he's come. He and Phoenix were friends a lifetime ago, when friendship required little more than sharing one's toys. They have refused to let time completely tear them apart, but he is not a part of Phoenix's life, not really. What right does he have to intrude on Phoenix's remaining days, on the grief of the people he loves, the people who love him?

What is it he could possibly offer these people?

What could he possibly offer Phoenix Wright?

It's a question he's asked himself for years, and he has yet to find a satisfactory answer.

  


* * *

  


It's hard, encouraging them to go about their normal lives. Only Miles knows how short his remaining time truly is, but the panic in their eyes is no less. They are all counting down the days, the hours, and they want to make the most of them.

He remembers the final weeks of his mother's life, sitting at the edge of the hospital bed, waiting for those rare moments when she would surface, see him beside her and smile with pain hiding behind her eyes.

He turns up in court for Apollo's trial; he'd stopped coming after the Misham case ended. After, he tags along when they go hunt down the new, surprise witness, and there is an ache in his chest so intense, a longing so acute, that he has to excuse himself, tell them he'll see them at home, for dinner.

He almosts expects that Edgeworth won't be in when he drops by his suite at the Gatewater, but he is. Phoenix wonders what he's been doing all day, and guilt again prickles beneath his skin.

They are silent as Edgeworth moves to the kitchenette to put some water on for tea. It's awkward, neither quite sure what to say, but Phoenix nevertheless feels his earlier tension easing out of him.

Here, in this room, there is no one he has to be, no part he must play.

  


* * *

  


He finds himself falling into a routine: go to court for Apollo's trial, then meet up with Edgeworth, spend the afternoon reading in Edgeworth's suite or quietly walking the park, then meet up with the family for dinner.

Rinse, repeat.

He's stopped going to the doctor; he'll be spending plenty of time with them soon enough. Edgeworth, the only one who knows, doesn't push it, brings it up occasionally and conversationally--"I bet they could fit you in before lunch"--but Phoenix shakes his head, not looking up from his book. And Edgeworth frowns, noticing the other man's pallor, the way his skin stretches so thin over his bones, and lets it go.

  


* * *

  


"I don't have a will," Phoenix says suddenly, during one of their quiet afternoons.

Edgeworth quirks an eyebrow, burying the pain that flares in his chest, his heart. He manages, "You should leave me that ridiculous hat."

Phoenix ignores him. "Will you draw one up for me?"

 _No_ , he thinks. He knows it's foolish--Phoenix will die with or without a will; Phoenix will die no matter whose hand draws up the paperwork--but it feels too much like acceptance, _approval_ , like greasing the wheels of an unstoppable machine.

But Phoenix is looking at him, poorly concealed fear in his eyes, and so he says, "Yes, of course."

  


* * *

  


Edgeworth notices Apollo watching him. The young man is polite to him, warm and welcoming to him, but his eyes follow Edgeworth around the apartment, and Edgeworth can't read him.

He recalls that Apollo has the Gramarye skill of perception, and paranoia creeps up his spine. He looks to Trucy, Thalassa, and they are engaged in the game of Parcheesi taking place in the living room.

He takes a sip of his drink, relaxes. He has nothing to hide, after all.

  


* * *

  


They are sitting on a bench at Gourd Lake, looking out over the water, when the end begins.

They are sharing a pretzel--Phoenix finds he can't eat too much at one time, these days--and talking about the past. Edgeworth is remembering--with some distain--how Larry used to pick his nose and leave his findings on the bottom of his desk. Phoenix laughs, because that's gross, and so quintessentially Larry, and because Edgeworth is so put off, and because it's easier, letting himself laugh at these things.

And then his laughter turns into a cough, and Edgeworth frowns but tries not to react, becoming accustomed to these fits and knowing that Phoenix would rather they both ignore them. But when Phoenix pulls his hand from his mouth, his fingers are spattered with a fine red mist.

For a moment, Miles is stricken. _He's dying_ , he thinks, and the reality of it overwhelms him. He watches Phoenix stare at the blood dotting his hands, sees his own horror reflected in those dark blue eyes, and puts his hand on his friend's arm.

"Today," he says, and Phoenix turns to look at him, homing in on the familiar voice. "We go to the doctor today."

  


* * *

  


Phoenix asked him not to call anyone; no sense in getting them worked up over nothing, he said, smiling a smile false and empty. Edgeworth waits alone in the corridor outside of Phoenix's examination room, standing with his back pressed flat against the wall.

What is he doing here? He doesn't know how to do this, has never known how to do this.

There is a window in the door of the examination room, a thin slice of glass. Though he tries not to look, tries not to intrude, his eyes keep wandering back, searching for a glimpse of Phoenix.

  


* * *

  


There is yelling when Trucy finds out, a week later. She takes the both of them to task, and everyone's eyes shift away, uncomfortable.

He's tired, and he understands her anger. And so he says, looking down at his untouched plate of skirt steak, that he watched his mother wilt away to nothing, slowly, and he will not do that her. He will not drag out her suffering over months and years, will not let her look into the eyes of her father and find a stranger instead.

There is a pregnant silence, and Maya catches his eye across the table. He has to look away.

"I don't need you protect me," Trucy says, lowering her shaking voice. "I need my _Daddy_."

A sob tears out of her then, and she rushes from the table. Thalassa stands, her lips twisted into a frown, and follows her daughter into her room.

He goes to the doctor the next morning, sets up an appointment schedule.

  


* * *

  


Miles is no longer alone in the waiting rooms. The cast rotates: Maya and Pearl one day, Apollo and Thalassa another. Phoenix smiles at them, laughs with them, but something seems closed about him, distant. Edgeworth finds himself missing their afternoons alone in the park and immediately feels guilty.

  


* * *

  


"I don't want to take these," Phoenix says, staring grimly at the small container of pills in his hand.

Edgeworth, washing dishes at the sink, shrugs. Phoenix no longer feels up to leaving the house every day, so now Edgeworth comes over to the apartment during the afternoons. "You're in pain, so they prescribed you painkillers. Seems reasonable to me."

"I don't want to spend my last few weeks as a drugged up zombie," Phoenix says, his tone matter-of-fact.

"What _do_ you want to do?" Edgeworth asks, putting down the sponge and turning to face the other man.

Phoenix considers this for a minute, bringing a finger to his chin. "Get laid?"

Edgeworth rolls his eyes. He says, straight-faced, "If you take a pill today--just to try it, mind you, to see if it's truly as bad as you think it is--I will hire you a prostitute."

Phoenix's laughter quickly dissolves into another fit of coughs, but he manages, "I don't think things are quite so desperate just yet."

"Suit yourself," Edgeworth says, turning back to the dishes. "Illicit sex or no, you're taking a pill today. If you don't like it, you never have to take another."

Phoenix frowns, grumbling, "I don't remember making you the boss."

But he takes the pill.

  


* * *

  


The pill does turn Phoenix into someone not quite recognizable, his eyes glazed and his thoughts sluggish, his words slurring.

But there is no ache creasing his brow, no pain to bury and hide away.

Still, Edgeworth thinks that Phoenix won't be taking the pill again, not until things are actually quite desperate. He isn't wrong.

  


* * *

  


The call comes in the middle of a beautiful afternoon. Edgeworth is at the grocery store with Thalassa, picking up the necessary supplies for dinner, when her cell phone starts ringing. Like every time the phone rings these days, there is fear. They look at each other for a long moment--a moment that, in their memories, will never seem to end--Thalassa clutching the still ringing phone in her hand. Edgeworth nods, and she brings the phone to her ear.

And he knows in the first second--it's in the way her eyes widen, the way her mouth slackens--that it's the call they've all be expecting for weeks now.

  


* * *

  


They meet the others at the hospital. Edgeworth feels out of place as the family circles them, Trucy and Pearl falling into Thalassa's arms. Apollo looks just as uncomfortable as Edgeworth feels, his eyes sliding away from the group.

Maya catches his eye, gives him a bittersweet smile.

"Hey," she says quietly. She knows.

"Hello, Ms. Fey," he says, equally quiet, and lets himself be led to the waiting room.

  


* * *

  


Edgeworth abandons any attempt at sleep fairly early in the evening, knowing it as futile. He fixes himself a pot of chamomile tea and tries to occupy his mind with a book.

The effort lasts less than half a chapter; Phoenix had been reading this very book the last time he visited the suite, almost two weeks ago now.

He wonders again what he's doing here, how he's managed to insinuate himself so deeply into this tragedy.

The other day, when he'd been doped up and out of his head, Phoenix had asked him why he came, why he always comes--not accusing, certainly, but there had been something melancholy in his voice. And Edgeworth hadn't known how to respond, realizing he didn't fully know the answer.

He thinks that maybe now--alone and terrified in this hotel room, wishing for nothing more than for Phoenix to walk through the door and read on his couch--he might understand why. And for the first time ever, the possibility doesn't scare him, doesn't seem so stifling.

He takes a sip of his tea, but it cannot wash away the oppressive taste of guilt.

  


* * *

  


Phoenix tells them not to, but they take shifts staying with him at the hospital, leaving him alone only at night. He says it makes him feel like an invalid, and everyone laughs, and no one acknowledges the truth.

  


* * *

  


Edgeworth is trying--like they all are trying--not to let his worry show. He and Phoenix are playing chess--often now Phoenix has trouble concentrating, his mind wandering, but he insists he feels up to a game--while Apollo reads quietly in the corner.

While Phoenix considers the board, wondering if it's worth sacrificing his bishop for Edgeworth's rook, Edgeworth wills himself not to obsess over the way Phoenix's hands shake as his fingers hover over his knight. He tries to ignore the longing building in his chest, the desire to cup Phoenix's bony hands in his own and stop their trembling, and he doesn't immediately feel Apollo's eyes on him.

The younger man doesn't look away when Edgeworth finally looks over at him, something thoughtful in his eyes as his fingers glance over his bracelet. Still, he doesn't quite know what to make of it until he turns back to Phoenix, finds him looking between him and Apollo with wide, knowing eyes.

"I'll, uh, I'll be back in a second," Apollo says, suddenly awkward, and slips out of the room. Edgeworth looks again back to Phoenix, sees him worrying his lip between his teeth.

"One of the things the doctors warned me about," he starts, slowly, considering his words carefully, "was that I might regret my decision about the chemo once it was too late for it to make a difference." He sighs, reaches out and presses one of those thin, fragile hands to Edgeworth's cheek. "I need you to not give me any reasons to regret, okay? It's too late for that."

Edgeworth nods, covering Phoenix's hand with his own as he'd wanted to before. The guilt throbs in his veins.

They've resumed their game by the time Apollo returns.

  


* * *

  


He isn't there the afternoon that Phoenix loses consciousness. He is with Apollo and Trucy, sitting quietly in the corner of the office as their attorney goes over the last of the paperwork for the transferal of guardianship.

Apollo gets the call, and they all know what it is as Apollo's face goes carefully blank.

But still, Trucy doesn't start weeping until Apollo reaches out, rests a hand on her shoulder.


End file.
